


I Sing the Body Electric

by linda92595



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-09
Updated: 2013-01-09
Packaged: 2017-11-24 07:49:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/632111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linda92595/pseuds/linda92595
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in the future, after the Gathering, Duncan MacLeod makes a life for himself as a homicide detective in New York City. A murder case brings him together with someone he thought he had lost forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Sing the Body Electric

**New York City,**

**October 4, 2185**

 

The evening breezes were cool, but not cool enough to alter the over-all miserable temperature of New York City. The convergence of the jet stream and other wind patterns had completely altered the climate of the North American continent and the entire planet causing sometime violent temperature shifts..

 

Although the man sitting in the green Ford Bronco really hadn’t been out of the United States for decades. He was tall, broad-shouldered and still devastatingly good-looking at forty-five. Duncan MacLeod glanced at his image in the rear-view mirror still unaccustomed to seeing his aging face, his mortal face.

 

His hair was still mostly dark with a few stands of silver beginning to show. His once seamless tawny golden skin was showing fine lines around the eyes and mouth, but that could have been attributed to the constant smile on his face as well as the aging process. He sighed.  MacLeod was a detective first class with the major crimes unit of the NYPD, and he and his partner, one Jerry Halwell, were in the last stages of shutting down a prostitution ring in the lower East Side.

 

Finally, Halwell appeared at the passenger side door of the Bronco grinning, “Ah, I shouldn’t have eaten all that black bean salad at dinner time, sorry for the pit stop.”

 

“Believe me, I’d rather do that than live with the alternative,” MacLeod said with a slight grimace. Halwell had the good grace to look embarrassed. The Bronco pulled out into the late evening traffic. Glancing in the rear view mirror MacLeod changed lanes, and then turned onto the Express lane to downtown.

 

Halwell glanced at the laptop he had unfolded, clicking on a file icon. “God, it’s taken too long to get Minnelli,” he hissed.

 

MacLeod nodded in response, and Halwell continued, “If we can get some of these boys he’s been using as whores to testify we can get him locked up good. Of course, we’ll have to be careful, as homicide thought they had the bastard last year until all of the witnesses turned up dead. All of them! I almost shit myself when that one blew up.”

 

“Lovely image,” MacLeod said shaking his head. He pulled the car off the street, and into an alley cutting the headlights, cruising slowly under the ugly orange halogen lamps bathing the streets and sidewalks in their sickly, sullen glare. Finally he spotted the black number spray painted on the concrete block wall, and killed the engine, parking the car at the curb.

 

The two detectives moved out of the car, joining the regular uniformed cops at the front of the building. MacLeod raised his walkie-talkie and hissed, “Golden, are you in position?”

 

The disembodied voice of the other detective came back to him, “Yeah. Everybody’s been briefed, but remember the boys that Minnelli keeps as whores are not criminals; they’re indentured by the courts and forced into working the streets, so they are not targets, just Minnelli and his men.”

 

Signaling the officers to move in MacLeod kicked in the door; the police spilled into the room. Gunshots arched, bright sparks of light flickering in the dimly lit warehouse. MacLeod dodged a shot, raising his own weapon and firing. The laser pulse handgun, kicked in his hand, sending almost silent energy projectiles at the shadowy forms strung out along the mezzanine of the cavernous room.

 

The shots found their target and a bulky form dropped over the metal railing falling to the concrete floor with a dull thump. It was too dim to clearly see if the man was dead or alive, but the blackish stain spreading out from around the still body was a good indication that he was, at least, badly hurt.

 

Raking his gaze around the darker forms huddled on the metal catwalks and stairs MacLeod ran across the floor to the still shape, turning it over with his foot. He winced at the smashed and ruined visage shaking his head. A shot whizzed past his ear, dinging the concrete at his feet and he jumped back, pressing into the shadows until he could get a clear sight on another of the gangsters on the metal railing. He took careful aim, and the man crumpled to the floor.

 

Finally, the last man fell under the barrage of gunfire from the police. As MacLeod met Halwell they ascended the stairs together with a long line of uniform officers in their wake. At the top of the staircase MacLeod found a light switch; he hit it and the room was flooded with bright light. Wincing he tucked his gun in its holster and moved toward the huge metal frame cage in the center of the upper level.

 

Inside the cage were seven young men. Although once he got a good look MacLeod could see that several were probably underage, all huddled on the floor hands cuffed in front of their bodies. At the rear of the cage he caught sight of a tall, lanky figure dressed in black jeans and a tight fitting black tee shirt, the standard garb of young hookers working the city streets.

 

The young man sat with his back against the wall, knees bent with his arms tightly hugging his legs. His face was buried in his arms, and all MacLeod could really see was the long, dark brown hair falling around his face and shoulders. But something about the huddled figure seemed tantalizingly familiar. As if he was aware of the older man staring at him the young man glanced up and froze, his mouth falling open.

 

MacLeod gasped as the hooker’s green-gold eyes widened in recognition, then in fear. The wide-eyed glance never wavered as the younger-looking man stood, backing to the far corner of the cage nervously. But MacLeod was absolutely sure that he recognized that slender, wary face.

 

 _Methos! What the hell_?

 

As he moved to circle the cage trying to get closer to the other man MacLeod was annoyed as a uniformed cop got in his way. When he looked up again the young men were being herded out of the cage toward the booking tables.

 

He wanted to get closer, wanted to talk to Methos, to ask how the ancient Immortal had escaped the Gathering, but he couldn’t. The young men and teenaged boys were being processed by the NYPD officers, fingerprinted and sorted into groups for transport. His partner gripped his shoulder from behind, smiling in satisfaction, and noticed that MacLeod’s gaze never left the tall, lanky young man in the third row.

 

Grinning Halwell said, “He’s a real looker, think he’d do a freebie in the car?”

 

“God, Jer. He’s young enough to be your son, no, your grandson...” MacLeod snapped before remembering that he was talking about Methos -- the amazing five thousand year old pain in the ass.

 

Halwell snorted, “I was talking about you not me.”

 

MacLeod’s eyes widened, “How magnanimous of you, what do you get out of it?”

 

“Hey, I’d get to watch.”

 

“That’s sick, Jer, really sick.” MacLeod said grimacing, and Halwell’s dry chuckling really irked him, so he wandered to the table where Methos sat, sullenly not answering the officer’s questions. The woman spared him a glance then turned her annoyed glare on the _young_ man, hunched over in the chair, kicking the table leg. “Stop it,” MacLeod said to Methos, smacking him on the arm. Methos glared up at the tall figure of the detective, and then smirked.

 

“That’s police brutality, you know,” He pulled a leg back to kick at the table again, and MacLeod leaned down getting right in his face.

 

“I don’t give a damn. Let me book this one, Gracie.”

 

Shrugging she rose, “I ran his prints. It says he’s Adam Dawson, DOB: September 5, 2165. Naturalized American Citizen born in Cardiff, Wales. He was a college student until he was indentured for debts in ’84.”

 

After the woman had walked away MacLeod settled into the chair in her place, glaring at Methos he asked, “How the hell did you end up in Minnelli’s stable?”

 

With a shrug Methos finally sighed and answered, “He bought my contract from the debt owner. Same as he got the others I suspect.”

 

“What happened?” MacLeod leaned forward speaking in hushed tones, “God, I thought you were dead, the Gathering and all. I was the last; I thought I was the last. Why aren’t you dead? Are you still Immortal?”

 

Methos frowned then lowered his voice as well, “Why, one would think that you were just overjoyed to see me, Highlander.”

 

Snorting MacLeod leaned back, “Don’t be an asshole,” he hissed.

 

“Why not? It’s almost a profession for me,” Methos retorted glaring then he surrendered, shoulders slumped, “I found a way to opt out of the game, and the Gathering, okay. And yes, I’m still Immortal, while apparently you are not. This is not a good place to talk about this, MacLeod. Get them to release me into your recognizance and I’ll give you the whole sordid story.” He paused as one of the uniform officers strolled up. MacLeod looked at the young officer, raising a brow questioningly.

 

“They’re ready to transport all of them,” the officer reported.

 

“Where?” Macleod asked rising from the chair. The other man glanced at the data pad he carried, and then turned back to his superior.

 

“This one and three others are under twenty-one so they’re going to juvie.”

 

“Look Bill, I’ll take this one in tonight. I mean, he’s twenty so they aren’t going to keep him in juvenile hall. They’ll transport him to the holding cells downtown, and you know what’ll happen to him in there.”

 

“Can’t do it, Detective MacLeod. If I could, I’d take him myself,” the other man said leering at Methos and MacLeod felt like a dirty old man. He flushed crimson, and Methos’ dirty smirk only added to the flame in his face. “It’s against the rules; you’d have to clear it with the judge.”

 

With a grunt MacLeod rose from the chair, tugging Methos up as well, then suddenly he felt the handcuffs give and he was standing on the walkway with a pair of handcuffs in his hand, watching the black clad figure of the Old Man disappear in the gloom.

 

“Oh hell,” he said tossing the handcuffs on the table and pounding down the walkway after the fleeing man. But Methos was nothing if not quick and agile, and he had long disappeared into the shadows before anyone had even thought to move.  MacLeod cursed in disgust then whirled around at a shout from behind him. One of the young men was having some kind of seizure, his small slender body convulsing on the metal walk way.

 

As MacLeod neared blue sparks began erupting from the boy’s mouth, and the skin on his face split, spraying blood over the floor. Several of the officers gathered around, trying to catch the wildly twitching body, but the spurts of electricity effectively kept them back. Finally, with one last shriek the body laid still, blood pooling around the boy’s face as he died.

 

“Goddammit!” Jerry Halwell shouted leaping back from the dead boy, “An A.I.! He was an A.I.  God, do you think the rest of them are?”

 

Shaken MacLeod touched the slack face, wincing at the smell of fried electric wiring and blood. The A.I. lay unmoving, and Duncan doubted that it qualified as a human being, although the courts had classified them as such. He shook his head, well artificial or not the boy was thoroughly dead now. Finally, he turned the young man’s head lifting the longish hair that curled around his shoulders in the fashion commonly worn by teenaged boys and young twenty-something men. A blue serial number was tattooed on the back of his neck, although that alone did not mean the boy was A.I. Anyone who had been through the prison system had an id number tattooed on their neck.

 

“How can we determine if any of the others are A.I., and what about the one that got away?” Halwell snapped. His partner leaned back shrugging.

 

Finally MacLeod said, “I’ll tract down the one that ran. We’ll have to send the rest of them to the hospital. The A.I.s are so well constructed that you have to perform special medical tests on them to determine that they are not real people.”

 

Halwell flinched looking at the young men who were staring coolly at his partner. “Take it easy, Mac. The Supreme Court ruled that A.I.’s are people. I mean they may have artificial bodies, but they have human brains. They eat, drink, pee and shit like humans, and they even breathe and sleep. Hell, the male ones used for sex can even come.”

 

“Yeah, but does that make them real people?”

 

Shrugging again Halwell said, “Hell if I know, Mac, but a difference that makes no difference is no difference.”

 

With a grin MacLeod lightly punched the older man on the arm, “Always a bleeding heart liberal, Jer.”

 

Grinning in return Halwell followed MacLeod as the uniform officers lead the young men away for the night. As the dead bodies of the six gangsters and the young hooker were being tagged by the coroner, MacLeod watched the NYPD van pull away with the remaining prostitutes inside. He wondered where Methos had gone, and how he could find the Immortal again. Even if Methos had not confirmed the fact he would have known that Methos was still Immortal. The lean face was still as young looking as the first time MacLeod had laid eyes him, and still as beautiful as last time that he had seen Methos that night on the barge, after O’Rourke, so many years ago.

 

They drove back to the precinct in silence and MacLeod gathered up his jacket. Walking to his car in the lot behind the squat gray brick building, MacLeod considered the last several years.

 

The Gathering had come fifteen years ago, although Mac had been appalled at how many of his Immortal friends had fallen by the wayside. Amanda had met her end not in combat, but at the hands of a madman who had political agendas and a bomb. A bomb that had blown the plate glass windows out of the building she was working in, legitimately at that, and a falling sheet of glass had taken her head as cleanly and precisely as any sword. Her Quickening had gone to Nick Wolfe and he had gone insane with grief, choosing to end his own life by challenging and loosing to the first Immortal to cross his path. ~~~~

Robert De Valincourt had fallen almost fifty years ago and although Gina had survived her grief, she hadn't been the same. MacLeod had even taken a few challenges for her, but eventually she too had fallen.

 

One by one the Immortal population had slipped away until only those few remained to actually compete at the Gathering -- to fight in ritual combat leaving only The One. Duncan Macleod had stood alone on that barren field, littered with the dead, bloodied but still alive. Afterwards he had searched the field, mourning each face he knew, but the one he was looking for was not among them. And so he believed that Methos had been lost long before.

 

MacLeod had accepted that he was The One, and as his prize he chose mortality, and the possibility of a normal life, a wife and children, hearth and home.  For the last fifteen years he had aged as a normal mortal man, and he had found his dream with a lovely young woman for a time. Then four years ago a single criminal act had taken her from him, and with her their unborn child and he had put that dream aside as well. Now he was learning to live again, with this horrendous loss just one more in the multitude of along life.

 

Glancing at his watch MacLeod was shocked to see that it was almost mid-night he had been driving aimlessly around unaware of the hustle of life around him. Finally he spotted the flashing neon sigh of the Internet cafe he was looking for.  Ned Groman, the hacker turned legit businessman, was one of his sources of information.

 

Easing his car through traffic he quickly found a parking space and walked down the sidewalk. Ned saw him walk in and waved. He went to the counter, ordered a large coffee then found a small table at the far end of the room. Ned tossed a bar towel over his shoulder and picked up his own mug of coffee wandering over to the detective’s table.

 

“Hiya boss, how’s it going?” Ned said twitching nervously. He was a small mousy looking young man of about thirty, still trying vainly to pass as a college boy. He was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt with long, greasy looking dirty blond hair falling in his eyes. He wiped at a non-existent spot on the table then squinted at the clock on the wall.

“A little late, Mac, somethin’ important you need?”

 

“What do you know about the A.I.s, Ned?”

 

Smiling the younger man drew a deep breath, “A lot really, what do ya wanna know?”

 

“Why did the Supreme Court rule that they were alive two years ago?” MacLeod said tapping his fingers against the tabletop in a nervous rhythm. Ned glanced at the other man then pressed his fingers against the tabletop to stop the restless movements.

 

“That’s because of the illegal organ transplants. A.I.s were supposed to be constructed and used as servants, soldiers -- you know slave labor. They were trying to program a computer that functioned like a human brain, was self-programming, but they could never get them to work right. The bodies are almost exact human replicas; they function just like a human body even the fluid used to cool the internal machinery is composed of a fluid that is similar to human blood, similar in color and chemical composition. They breathe, eat, and have a heartbeat and regular body temperature like a human body. It takes all kinds of special diagnostic tests to determine if someone is an A.I., and for all intents they never wear out, the skeleton is titanium, it lasts forever. And the internal organs are all artificial, they never degenerate, complete with nano-technology to do self-repairs. Their skin is a synthetic blend of chemicals, completely self-sealing in case of injury. But they had this problem with the brains. They couldn’t make a computer that could function like a human brain, not sophisticated enough.”

 

He took a breath then continued, “So in 2170 a doctor was caught using actual brains transplanted from human beings into A.I. bodies. He used prisoners on death row, decapitated them and took the brains out. It horrified the public and the courts eventually decided that all the A.I.s that had transplanted brains were legally human beings. Hell, some of them don’t even know what they are. Although I guess they figure it out when they don’t age.”

 

“So if someone didn’t age to begin with they’d never even suspect?”

 

“Sure, I guess so, but who doesn’t age? We all do, well, except them.”

 

“Yeah, right, but weren’t they all convicted prisoners; why weren’t they all returned to jail?” MacLeod said shifting in his seat, staring out the window as Methos’ voice echoed in his mind, “ _I found a way to opt out of the game and the Gathering_.”

 

“Because the A.I bodies hadn’t committed a crime, and the human beings who had committed the crimes had been sentenced to death and were all, conveniently, quite dead.”

 

“They decapitated them? Are you sure?” MacLeod asked casually as he sipped at the cooling liquid in the cup wincing at the bland flavor.

 

Ned shrugged, “That’s what I’ve heard. But it’s hard to tell; the files were all sealed. I don’t know how they disposed of the human bodies. Being a detective with the NYPD you’d have access to the records. Maybe the bodies, too, if they are still around.”

 

With a yawn the younger man stood up, “Hey, it’s late man. I’m whipped. I’m’ gonna close it up and go home. You should do the same, Mac, you look beat.”

 

With a smile Macleod shook the younger man’s hand, and walked tiredly to his car. It was a short drive on the expressway to the cleaner and nicer neighborhood he where had bought his condo after Karen had been killed. He pulled his car into the garage and closed the door turning to the stairway up to the second floor entryway.

 

Halfway up the stairs to his front door he froze. A figure was slumped in the doorway to his house, curled on the rug and apparently sound asleep, edging forward he pulled his hand gun from the shoulder holster under his jacket then nudged the slim figure with the toe of his shoe.

 

Methos uncurled his long body and froze staring up the barrel of the gun. He blinked sleepily not moving until MacLeod lowered the weapon. With a frown MacLeod swung his arm down to help the other man to his feet, but Methos cringed away as if he expected to be slapped. Eyes widening in surprise the Highlander winced, “It’s all right. I’m not going to hit you.”

 

"Sorry, some of my client’s like it rough. I just got confused for a minute.” Methos said as a crimson flush spread over his high cheekbones. He looked young and vulnerable and MacLeod growled in frustration. Methos winced again, “Look maybe I’d better go. I mean if Minnelli finds out that I’m not in jail he’ll be looking for me. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry, Mac. If I had known that you would choose to become mortal as the Prize I would have never left the game.”

 

"Speaking of which how did you do that? And how did you find this place?” MacLeod asked grasping the other man’s slender wrist. Methos tried to free himself and the Highlander could see he was still scared, still very uncertain of his welcome. Some deep well of protective emotion swelled inside him, and MacLeod kicked himself mentally. Methos was no twenty year-old boy who needed protecting, yet he was oddly reluctant to let the other man leave.

 

"Why don’t you come inside, tell me how you ended up working as a…well, working for Tony Minnelli.”

 

“You can say it, I’m a whore. It’s not the first time in five thousand years that I have been one, and it probably won’t be the last time either.” Methos wrapped his arms around himself, shivering and MacLeod frowned. The other man was dressed only in jeans and a thin black tee shirt; he was probably freezing in the cold early morning air.

 

“Come on. Let’s get you inside, and warmed up a little.”

 

Opening the door MacLeod led his reluctant guest inside the huge front room, reaching over to turn on a lamp. The pale yellow light barely illuminated the room, casting an uneven glow over the comfortable, over stuffed furniture. Turning he locked the door, and then stepped back smiling. Suddenly without really understanding why he grasped Methos arms and pulled him into a tight embrace. Methos melted into the hug, and MacLeod buried his face in the clean, soft hair inhaling its warm, sweet scent. With a sigh he released the other man motioning to the kitchen, “Are you hungry?”

 

“No, Mom, I ate earlier,” Methos said dutifully with a slight smile on his thin lips. He flushed again as MacLeod shot him a look. “But I really could use some sleep.”

 

“Okay, the guest room’s on the right, end of the hall. There’s some clean sweats in there that should fit, the shower is pretty well stocked, and there’s fresh towels on the rack.” He leaned back staring at the still young and slender body, and Methos shivered.

 

“Do you want some company tonight? I mean if you want to...you know... it’s alright.” He stammered. And MacLeod was appalled. He took a step back frowning.

 

“You don’t _owe_ me _anything_ for the hospitality of my home, certainly not that. I would have done this for any one of those other boys. I didn’t want you in the holding cells, they’re full tonight, and a couple of the younger guys were raped in there last week.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Smiling MacLeod bowed Methos down the hall, “Try to get some sleep we have a nine a.m. court appearance. I’m going to ask that all the prostitutes be kept in protective custody in exchange for testifying against Minnelli. You’ll have to testify, too. And against the contract holder on your indentured servitude contract. They can’t just sell you into slavery to a mobster, especially since, well technically, you’re underage.”

 

Methos nodded grimacing a little then walked down the hall; he paused at the bedroom door smiling at MacLeod, “Thanks, Mac. I really appreciate this. I’m sorry if I offended you.”

 

“It’s okay; just don’t run during the night. I don’t want to have to put an APB out on you and haul you in. You’re not going to jail, and I really need your help testifying.”

 

“Okay, besides I promised that I’d tell you about getting out of the game. I’ll tell you tomorrow after the hearing.”

 

**Atlantic Imports Warehouse Number 6,**

**East Washington Street**

A tall man impeccably dressed in a charcoal gray suit paced the length of the warehouse floor stopping to stare down at the rust colored stains on the concrete, and the deep trench of a projectile impact crater. He brushed a long fingered hand through his razor cut hair turning to the shorter more heavy set man standing slightly behind him.

 

“Did you say it was this MacLeod again? And his partner that obnoxious old guy, what was his name?”

 

“Jerald Halwell, Mr. Minnelli. Halwell’s been MacLeod’s partner since MacLeod graduated from the academy fifteen years ago.”

 

“I’ve already been informed that the six boys have a court appearance at 9:00 this morning. I will have a list of addresses of the safe houses by lunchtime. I don’t need to impress upon how much I do not want any of those boys testifying, do I Carl?”

 

“No sir, not at all.”

 

“You handled things so well last time, I know I can depend on you.”

 

“Yes sir, thank you Mr. Minnelli. I’ll take care of it.”

 

 

**West Side Municipal and Superior Court,**

**9:00 a.m.**

 

The six remaining witnesses in the case against Anthony Minnelli were assigned public counsel and sat huddled around a long wooden table in Department Six of the New York Superior Court. All of the young men had agreed to testify, after being given assurances that they would be placed under protective custody. MacLeod waited until Judge Carroll Hamilton made the final order regarding the search warrants for Minnelli’s businesses and residence before asking permission to address the court.

 

Judge Hamilton glanced down at the very familiar figure before smiling warmly, “Detective MacLeod,” she said, “You have something to add.”

 

“One of the young men, Adam Dawson, is a former foster child of mine; I would like to request that he be placed in protective custody in my home.”

 

“Well, that is unusual Detective, however, since you have a long and exemplary career with the department, and I know that you and your late wife did foster many troubled youths I am inclined to agree. But Mac, you know that Minnelli is a dangerous man. He will come after these boys. You might be putting your life in danger by fostering Mr. Dawson in your home.”

 

“Yes, Your Honor, I understand but I’m willing to take that chance. I will vouch that Mr. Dawson will not be a risk for flight and that he will testify at Minnelli’s trial.”

 

“All right, I’ll agree to it then, conditionally. If Mr. Dawson proves uncooperative I will have him removed from your home and placed in a safe house with the rest of the witnesses.”

 

“Thank you, Your Honor.” MacLeod smiled as he turned to leave. As the judge moved down from the bench she motioned him over to the sidebar. They watched as the deputies sorted through the young men assigning them to several different safe houses around the city. They both turned to look at Methos as he sat diffidently watching the proceedings.

 

Hamilton leaned forward lowering her voice, “Mac, are you sure that you want to do this? I get the feeling that there is something more going on than you’re telling me.”

 

“No it’s true, Carroll. I do have a prior acquaintance with Adam.”

 

“Well, look at it from another point of view. You are a somewhat recently widowed man, and he is a very attractive young man. Some less than charitable people might think that you had ulterior motives for getting him into your home, alone.”

 

“Do you believe that?”

 

“Of course not, Mac. I’ve known you for fifteen years. I know you are a good man, but I also know that loneliness might make a good man make bad mistakes. He’s underage, and I don’t want anything to damage your reputation. I mean, what if he accuses you of something?”

 

“He won’t, Carroll. He’s my friend. I’ve known him for a while, and I want to look into how he ended up in Minnelli’s hands. I’ve pulled up the court records on his indenture and he was placed on the indentured list because of a lack of resources to pay off damages to a vehicle incurred in a traffic accident, but he did provide the court with proof that his uncle could and would pay the damages. I think that the court system played fast and lose with his rights. Not to mention that the indentured contract holder sold his contract and that is blatantly illegal.”

 

“You think that someone in the court system is picking out people without financial means and getting them indentured for the purposes of selling contracts to the mob?”

 

“Yeah, and I’m willing to bet that if you checked some of the other boys they’d have been indentured too. I’ve never liked the indentured servitude system,” MacLeod said, recalling that he had not liked it in the seventeenth century either, when indentured servants were common.

 

“I’ll have someone check into it. If he runs, you’re going to be responsible for getting him back.”

 

After the deputies had hauled the witnesses off, and MacLeod and Methos had left out of the side door, Judge Hamilton sat in her clerk’s chair pulling up the transcripts of the hearing. Carefully she reviewed the orders regarding search warrants noticing with satisfaction that they only pertained to Minnelli’s residences and offices, not the warehouses for the import firm he owned. He had always told her that the residences and main offices were strictly legit; nothing could be traced to them. She pulled up the addresses of the safe houses, carefully highlighting them on the transcripts, along with the keypad codes for the security systems, and then printed the page. Making sure that she went back and made a hard copy of the entire file for her office use, no one would question her right to do. She closed the file leaving the printer happily churning out the copy to retrieve later.

 

The records of her office phones were regularly scanned by the computers for threatening or harassing phone calls so she couldn’t make the call from them. Pulling her cell phone out of her purse she dialed a number then left a brief message, “The letter you requested is being sent by registered mail today.”

 

Humming Judge Hamilton removed her robes and smoothed her suit trousers down before donning her jacket. The nine o’clock hearing was her only appearance today. It was her grandson’s first birthday after all. As she walked out to her car in the staff lot she paused ever so briefly something nagging in the back of her head. She had forgotten something, something fairly important, but she shrugged it off. It would keep.

 

MacLeod motioned Methos over to him, and they walked own the street to MacLeod’s Bronco. “I’ve talked the judge into letting me provide your protective custody at my house until Minnelli’s trial. Promise me you won’t leave okay.”

 

Methos nodded, “I don’t have anywhere else to go anyway, Mac.”

 

They got into car, and MacLeod pulled out of the parking space. They cruised up the street then MacLeod turned looking over his shoulder, “Hey, you hungry?” he asked. Methos winced as the car wobbled across the centerline.

 

“Mac, pay attention to where you’re going. You’re not Immortal anymore; a car accident could do some heavy damage.”

 

“Let’s stop here, how about some pizza?” MacLeod leaned over grinning and Methos shook his head, “How does it feel knowing you’re the only one left? It must be strange.”

 

“How did it feel when you thought you were The One?”

 

“That was different. I thought everyone else was dead. Besides that wasn’t the case was it, I guess you’re The Only One now. How did you get out of the Game?” MacLeod asked shifting in his seat to stare into the other man’s changeable green-gold eyes. Methos flushed under the intense scrutiny then replied.

 

“Cryogenic suspension.”

 

“What?” MacLeod asked, “That’s impossible. They proved that you couldn’t put a living body in stasis because the freezing causes cell damage.”

 

“That’s true, but that doesn’t really matter to an Immortal, does it?” Methos opened the car door, and followed the other man into the large, well lit restaurant. He grinned at the Florentine gold script painted on the glass door proclaiming that this was Vicenza’s Olive Tree Restaurant, the name far more impressive than the edifice it adorned. 

 

MacLeod settled in a chair ordering beer for himself and Coke for his companion, wagging an eyebrow when Methos opened his mouth to protest, “You can’t drink in public because you’re underage.”

 

“And you are enjoying this far too much, Highlander.”

 

“So you really went into cryogenic suspension to escape the game.”

 

“Methos shrugged then said, “Not exactly.” Then to forestall the thunderclouds he saw rising on MacLeod’s brow, he quickly added, “I was in prison, on death row for murder.”

 

“Methos!”  The Scot protested, but Methos merely sneered at him.

 

“Do me the courtesy of listening, Mac. About twenty-five years ago, I took my last challenge. He was a headhunter, and a badly trained one at that. The major problem was that he stupidly challenged me in broad daylight then wouldn’t listen to reason. I think he was high on something myself, it’s the only thing that could account for his lack of judgment and even greater lack of skill with a sword. Anyway, we were seen, and by more than Watchers. I ended up getting arrested and convicted of murder. I spent ten years in Rennet State Penitentiary on death row while my attorney, and I use that term loosely, argued the appeals. After all he had come at me first.”

 

MacLeod snorted and took a long drink from his beer, while Methos disgustedly toyed with the soda, finally giving in and drinking some of it. When he had MacLeod’s attention again he said, “After a while I was beginning to worry that people would really question why I wasn’t aging, I mean everyone around me was already commenting on my youthful appearance for a forty-five year old man."

 

"So this scientist of some kind shows up one day and asks for volunteers for an experiment in cryogenic suspension, using tanks he had built himself.  I volunteered because, not only would that help explain the fact that I wasn’t aging, I could tell the Gathering was nearing. I could feel the pull and I knew that if I was in suspension I would be out of the Game, technically they kill you when you go in, then resuscitate you when you wake up.”

 

“I though maybe you had volunteered to have your brain transplanted in an A.I. body...”

MacLeod said then paused at the look of absolute revulsion that crossed Methos’ face.

 

“Why would I want to be one of those _things_? Maybe that might appeal to someone mortal, someone who was facing aging and death, but not me. I’m already Immortal; I don’t need an artificial body.”

 

“Sorry I didn’t think,” MacLeod offered to quiet the other man down before he drew too much attention from the other diners. But something Jerry Halwell had said flashed through his mind, “ _Some of them don’t even know what they are_.”

 

“Besides,” Methos continued, “They weren’t doing that. I saw the suspension tanks; they had them built in the basement of the prison.” He paused when the waiter appeared with their pizza, deeply inhaling the rich scent of the deep dish pepperoni with a smile, “Uhmm, I don’t know how long it’s been since I had pizza last. I really used to love it; do you remember that place in Seacouver down from Joe’s, what was the name?”

 

MacLeod grinned at him, “Oh God that was over a hundred years ago. I think it was some silly thing, The Mellow Mushroom?”

 

“Yeah that’s it. I think they were aging hippies, but they sure could make pizza.”

 

“I was always afraid they’d lace it with pot or something.”

 

Methos chuckled taking another slice as he popped the last bite into his mouth, “Maybe that’s why the mushrooms were so mellow. Anyway I wake up five years later and I was told my sentence had been commuted and pardoned by the governor for my great service to humanity and I ended up back in circulation, only I don’t run into a single Immortal, not in ten years. So, I figured no one won the Gathering.” He paused twisting the Coke bottle nervously; “I really never thought that you’d choose to be human if you were the last. I am sorry, Duncan.”

 

“My choice. It’s not your fault. You didn’t know. Hey, you called me Duncan.”

 

“That is your name isn’t it, or have you finally changed it?” Methos said clasping his hand to his chest in the universal heart-attack signal. MacLeod leaned over to punch him on the arm.

 

“No, it’s just that I really like it when you call me Duncan, always have.”  MacLeod said delighting in the warm, flush that colored Methos’ lean cheeks crimson. He finished his lunch then nodded at the other man, “Done?”

 

“Yeah, let’s go.” Methos stood at the door while MacLeod paid the bill, then they walked out to the Bronco. As they sat in the mid-afternoon rush hour traffic Methos tuned the radio to the local rock station. MacLeod flinched at the screaming electric guitars, and heavy drums. He tossed a quick smirk in the Highlanders direction, “Still haven’t broadened your horizons musically I see.”

 

“If you can call that music.” MacLeod said as he settled back letting the annoying sounds wash over him, all the while conscious of the deep warmth seeping through his body. He had forgotten how good it felt to be with Methos, how right the world had seemed when they were together.

 

Not that they had ever been together in the way MacLeod had wanted, in the end he had been too burned out by the deaths of Tessa, Darius and Richie to even feel anything but relief when he had walked away. But all this time he had mourned this lost friendship above all others, even Amanda. And while he had learned to love others, no one could completely take the place of this snarky, sullen, ancient and eternally youthful man.

 

Methos fiddled with the radio controls again, and yet another wave of harshly discordant, to MacLeod’s ears, sound washed over them both. MacLeod just sighed and smiled at his companion knowing that probably irked his ancient friend far more that any argument ever could.

 

After an hour of minimal movement the traffic finally began lightening and they pulled off the freeway onto the express lanes into the suburbs.  As they passed the strip mall on the final turn toward his condo MacLeod pulled into the parking lot in front of the grocery store, “What do you want for dinner?  We could pick up the stuff for sashimi. Maybe some good yellowtail? You know you never did make that stuff for me.”

 

“What stuff?”

 

“That Roman road tar stuff,” MacLeod said. And Methos nodded.

 

“If they have lentils and chestnuts here get some. I’ll cook it tomorrow, if I can remember how.”

 

After dinner they sat in front of the fireplace in the living room with the chessboard between them. Methos sprawled against the sofa with a beer bottle loosely clasped in his long, elegant fingers. MacLeod drank in every inch of the long, lean body, now clad in a pair of MacLeod’s old, worn jeans that should have been consigned to the rag bin.  As Methos contemplated his next move he casually stroked his fingers over his leg.

 

MacLeod found himself fascinated by the three-inch path of those cleaver fingers, up the worn cloth then down the side seam, finally up again. He felt alternately hot then cold as he watched Methos’ fingers dancing over his own firmly muscled thigh. Suddenly the fingers stopped in their flight, tapping on the leg in a quick staccato rhythm. And MacLeod noticed that the fabric of the jeans was split on the inner seam, just where Methos’ thigh melded into his groin, and through the small rip he could just see the fold of creamy skin and few strands of dark hair.   

 

“Mac,” Methos’ voice roused him, “MacLeod pay attention, it’s your move.”

 

The Highlander looked up still mesmerized, then slowly glared at the other man, “Huh?”

 

“It’s your turn to move...” Methos said snippily and MacLeod found himself wondering if Methos’ pubic hair was as soft and satiny looking as the hair on his head. He flushed then drew back as Methos leaned over the chessboard staring straight into the Highlander’s face.   

 

“I want to go to bed.” MacLeod whispered then flushed at the awkward demanding sound, but before he could apologize Methos sat back with a humph.

 

“Well, you should have told me you were tired. I knew there must be a reason you were playing so god-awful badly...”

 

“No, I mean I want to go to bed with you...” MacLeod said sliding gently forward so that just the tips of his fingers stroked over the other man’s lean cheek. Methos’ breath caught, and he closed his eyes tilting his head into the touch.

 

“Oh god, Duncan...” he whispered, “I’m not sure that would be the wisest thing.”

 

“When have we ever done the wisest thing?” MacLeod slid his hands down Methos’ neck, over his shoulders and down his arms, catching the other man’s wrists. Methos tried to pull away, but MacLeod held him firm, drawing him into his arms.

 

With a sigh he leaned forward pressing his lips against the soft skin of Methos’ neck, letting his lips map the contours of his jaw and cheek. Methos shuddered in MacLeod’s arms leaning against the solid bulk of his friend. “I don’t know...” Methos said slowly.

 

His voice was hushed as MacLeod pressed forward fisting both hands in the front of the sweater Methos had borrowed and dragged the other man into his lap. His lips closed on Methos’ silencing him very effectively as he thrust his tongue deeply into the other man’s mouth. Methos warmed to the kissed and wrapped his hands around MacLeod’s shoulders, hanging on for dear life.

 

When they finally parted for air Methos gasped, “Why this -- now?”

 

“There’s a rip in your jeans, and I can see your pubic hair.”

 

“I didn’t know you had a fetish for people’s pubic hair.” Methos muttered as MacLeod tongued the tight arch of his jaw then nipped down the slender column of Methos’ neck.

 

Pausing MacLeod replied, “Not people, only yours. I want to touch it. I want to touch you, Methos.”

 

Methos quickly rose holding out a hand to still MacLeod’s protests. Stripping off his sweater Methos dropped it on the floor, the unfastened his jeans letting them slid off his hips and pool around his ankles. Lifting one foot MacLeod pulled the material free then kissed the instep before dropping it to the floor to help Methos remove his jeans the rest of the way.

 

MacLeod stroked his fingertips up Methos slim, hard-muscled leg to his crotch then back down, before finally tangling his fingers in the thick nest of dark curls around the hard length of his penis. He lightly flicked his fingers over the marble shaft feeling it twitch under his touch.

 

Gasping Methos arched his back like some giant cat, murmuring soft encouraging words to MacLeod urging him to do more than touch, to take and own. MacLeod stood up hastily shedding his clothes as he dragged the other man into his bedroom, flicking on the lights as they went in.  Hands tangled and they stumbled together to the bed before MacLeod finally pushed the other man down, almost falling on his prone body.

 

Methos’ skin and hair were every bit as soft and satiny as MacLeod had always thought they would be, and he moaned as the Highlander mapped that long, lean body with hands and tongue. Letting his fingers trail firmly down Methos’ abdomen MacLeod leaned over the bed to the night table fumbling a bottle of massage oil out of the drawer.

 

He drizzled a little of the richly scented oil on Methos’ taut belly, coating two fingers before slipping them between the rounded curves of Methos’ ass into the deep warm cleft. Methos’ body parted easily, greedily sucking MacLeod’s slippery fingers inside. He twisted them and Methos uttered a sharp curse, back arching off the bed when MacLeod nudged his prostate.

 

When Methos was finally shuddering and moaning with need, MacLeod mounted him, sinking his aching cock inside that tight, silky channel. With a long shuddering breath Methos thrust his hips upwards, meeting the other man, forcing a deeper penetration and groaning in delight.

 

There were no other sounds but the gentle murmuring of MacLeod and the slap of flesh against flesh until Methos threw his head back, crying out and spurting over both their chests. Methos’ orgasm pulled MacLeod’s own climax from him in shuddering, gasping waves of pleasure until last he dropped on the hot, sweaty body under him.

                                   

With a sigh Methos stretched languidly, grinning at his bed partner. MacLeod fumbled with the beside lamp then settled down pulling the other man into his arms. Methos snuggled briefly then fell asleep on MacLeod’s chest.  The Highlander lay still, watching the shadows from the tree outside the window flicker on the far wall. Turning his head he leaned down inhaling the clean, warm scent of the man in his arms. Sighing he closed his eyes, but sleep was elusive.

 

He had wanted this with Methos for over a century, and now he wished that the nagging little voice in the back of his head would leave him alone. The little voice that said this may or may not be the real Methos lying in bed with him.

 

Did it make a difference?

 

If this was Methos in an artificial body, it was still Methos’ mind, still his memories, but was it Methos’ soul? Did an artificial man have a soul? Did he have one for that matter? What was it that Jerry Halwell had said, “ _A difference that makes no difference is no difference.”_

But did it make a difference to him? MacLeod sighed again and Methos grumbled rolling over but not moving away from him. Well, he wasn’t going to find any answers here tonight, not any more than the one he had already found. And that answer was that he did want Methos, had always wanted him, and now wasn’t sure that he could let him go.

 

Cursing silently he rolled onto his side then stroked through Methos’ long hair, brushing it off his shoulder. The deep blue number tattooed on his neck stood out boldly against Methos’ pale skin. Leaning down MacLeod traced a finger over the number and when Methos didn’t move, MacLeod half rose to fumble a pad of paper and pen off the night table beside the telephone.

 

Quickly he wrote the number down, gently pushing Methos’ hair out of the way, until he could read the last number in the series. The final digit had been laid down over an old scar and was warped; it could have been either a zero or a six. Frowning he wrote the number both ways then tucked the pad under the phone, before pulling Methos back into his arms, and settling down to sleep.

 

**New York Police Department,**

**11:30 a.m.  November 11, 2185**

 

After all the shouting had died down Methos had sullenly gone back to repeating the story of his time period in Anthony Minnelli’s employment for the fifteenth time. He winced at the stony glare that the Highlander was giving him and thought, “ _I guess knowing that I was a whore and hearing all the gory details were two entirely different things.”_

MacLeod sat impassively in his chair, just to the right of Methos’ court appointed attorney, as the Assistant District Attorney posed yet another humiliating question about the “activities” that Methos had been required to perform as a part of his employment. The fact that Methos had named about two dozen wealthy and well known men in the community as his steady clientele was both horrifying and unexpected.

 

MacLeod could see that Methos was abjectly humiliated in relating tale after tale of these men’s sexual practices. The District Attorney seemed all too amused by the Superior Court Judge, who was approaching retirement age, who had a thing for Methos in a Catholic Schoolgirl’s uniform. The Highlander was willing to lay odds on the fact that Minnelli had the rooms in the brothel wired for sound and video and good chunk of that judge’s retirement pay would have gone to pay from keeping the videos out of his wife’s hands.

 

Finally, in deference to the emotional distress the testimony was causing Adam, his attorney called a halt to the proceedings. Methos silently followed MacLeod out of the office and headed toward the parking lot. Just as they were about to leave a uniformed officer for the records department trotted out of the elevator. Grinning he waved a packet of manila folders at the Highlander. “Detective MacLeod, I found those files you asked me to find. A good thing you checked them out now. They were scheduled to be destroyed.”

Later that evening, after dinner and washing up they sat in the floor watching a movie on television with Methos making pointed comments about ancient Rome and that “Caesar did not look like that. Plus the Roman Army wasn’t nearly that good in combat and who the hell believed that everything in Rome was white?”

 

“God, Mac.” Methos snorted, “Who wrote this piece of crap? Any second year archeology student will tell you the Romans painted every damn thing, including statues.”

 

“We’re not watching it for the historical accuracy. It’s a drama, for entertainment purposes.”

 

“Oh yeah, the only one who found Christians being tossed into the Coliseum as lion food entertaining was the lions.”

 

“Yes, oh great and glorious historian,” MacLeod said genuflecting and simultaneously tossing popcorn at the other man.

 

Rolling his eyes Methos dodged the projectiles and said imperiously, “That was great and glorious physician. And they weren’t talking about me.”

 

“What did you do in ancient Rome?”

 

“Oh a little of this and a little of that. Mostly I was a slave, but for seventeen years I was married to a Roman General and raised his four children.”

 

“You were married to a man?”

 

“Yep, I was a slave in a senator’s house, tutor to his grandchildren. I spoke Greek and Latin and could read and write in both. The General was his friend and he saw me in the house, asked to buy me, but the Senator’s wife had somehow gotten the idea that I was an innocent, little virgin...”

 

“That was probably a real stretch for you.” MacLeod snorted then grinned at the baleful glare that earned him. Squaring his shoulders Methos went on.

 

“Anyway she demanded that he marry me instead of buying me. And he did. He was a good husband too. He was kind to me when he didn’t have to be, and I raised the children until they were grown.”

 

“But I didn’t think that the Romans were that tolerant of homosexuality.”

 

“Well, less that the Greeks, that’s true, but we got around that. The senator just declared that I was a woman.”

 

“Is that even true?” MacLeod said and Methos leaned back eyes closed, a slow sweet smile spread over his face, as if he was remembering someone else.  And suddenly the Highlander was jealous of a man who had died long before MacLeod had even been born. Methos grinned even wider, and MacLeod wasn’t sure if he was being played for a fool or not. Not that he even cared; he had missed this the most, the wildly improbable stories of the past, Methos’ version of history.

 

He clicked off the television yawning, rising to follow the other man into the bedroom. He and Methos had tumbled into bed every night since the first one, and the Immortal showed no sighs that he wanted it any other way. Methos shimmied out of his skintight jeans dropping them on the floor. Finally relenting as MacLeod glared at him quickly he tossed his clothes into the hamper while MacLeod finished undressing.

 

Turning down the duvet Methos sprawled on the bed idly stroking his hand over his chest. MacLeod crawled across the bed nudging Methos in the shoulder with his forehead. Methos ran his fingers through the Highlander’s hair, over his cheeks and down under his chin, grasping his face and pulling him into for a deep, hard kiss.  Shoving MacLeod down he quickly straddled the other man’s hips, leaning in to suckle a dark brown nipple. MacLeod gasped and Methos wriggled rubbing their cocks together, with a silky purr he hissed in MacLeod’s ear, “Does Daddy like that?”

 

Suddenly MacLeod sat up spilling the slightly smaller man off his lap growling angrily, “I’m not one of your hard-assed lawyers or slimy bankers, Methos. You don’t have to whore for me.”

 

“I’m sorry, Duncan. This past year has been kind of hard for me. I meant it when I said that I had been a whore in the past, about six hundred years ago. Not anytime recently, and I never liked doing it, it’s always been because someone owned me. I hate feeling helpless, like I have no choice in how I live my life, and truthfully you look so much older now. I really did get a little confused.”

 

Tucking a pillow under his chin MacLeod sighed, reaching back to draw Methos down beside him, “After the trial where will you go?”

 

“Back to school I guess. I really want to finish that degree and I was kind of thinking about going to Mars -- to the colony. They’ll need techs, especially people trained to build and maintain the atmosphere processors.”

 

MacLeod nodded not looking at the man laying beside him, “In the meantime while you’re in school?”

 

“If this is a prelude to asking me to live with you, I don’t think that would be wise.” Methos held up a hand to forestall the protest he could see in Duncan’s face. “You are a respected member of this community and I am a whore, and even worse I am an underage whore. That will really look good on your record down at the precinct.”

 

“I was thinking of leaving New York anyway. I could retire from the force, go back to Seacouver, maybe even open a martial arts studio again or an antique shop.  I still have warehouses full of crap. Antiques are big again.”

 

“What would I be, your interior decorator boyfriend?”

 

“Oh yeth...” MacLeod lisped winking, and Methos rolled onto his back laughing.

After a few minutes he sat up wiping his nose on the sheets while studiously avoiding MacLeod’s scowl.

 

“Can we get matching neon pink tee-shirts?”

 

Grinning the Highlander pulled him close letting his lips trial over Methos’ collarbones, down his chest suckling on a nipple briefly before trailing lower.  Methos cock twitched, rising and firming as MacLeod’s mouth explored his flat belly, tasting the slight indent of his navel then swept downward. Methos uttered a strangled shout when the warm, wet heat of MacLeod’s mouth closed over his aching cock. The long, elegant fingers that wrapped themselves around the Highlander skull tightened almost painfully, and then Methos was arching up, thrusting as much as he could with MacLeod’s meaty hands grasping his hips, forcing him prone.

 

Grunting and cursing Methos panted rising up on his elbows so that he could watch MacLeod sucking him. The sight of his rigid, tumescent flesh thrusting in and out of the other man’s full lips set him off, and Methos came in hard spurts. MacLeod sucked him dry then licked the softening flesh clean with a smile.

 

Quickly he lubed his dripping; penis and grasping Methos by the hips tossed him face down on the bed. Methos grunted once as MacLeod slid inside, then struggled to rise to his hands and knees. MacLeod pulled him up supporting them both until Methos got settled, then he closed his eyes leaning heavily on the slightly smaller man riding him vigorously until they both climaxed again.

 

After Methos had fallen asleep MacLeod lay listening to his deep, regular breathing for a few minutes before climbing out of the bed. He crept across the room and pulled the door closed behind him. The two manila folders that he had ordered from the records department were sitting on his desk in the living room. Carefully he switched on a lamp then picked them up.

 

He had been researching the case numbers for a couple of weeks, since he first got the files. The job was more difficult because the names of the prisoners had been deleted out of the documents and were replaced only by their id numbers. Either one of the cases could have been Methos’, both prisoners were incarcerated for murder and both had served the first ten years of their sentences at Rennet. The first prisoner had taken part in a cryogenic suspension experiment and been released. The second prisoner had been executed as ordered, and his body donated to science.  Without seeing the actual body of the executed prisoner MacLeod would never be able to tell if it was Methos or not.

 

Finally he picked up the phone calling the records department and leaving a message for John Roberts, the clerk. Carefully he left a detailed message that he was trying to locate records on the final disposition of a body in a murder case and clicked off the phone.

 

Turning off the lamp he yawned briefly then walked back into the bedroom.

 

**NYPD Safe House No. 1**

**12:00 a.m.**

The black sedan cruised around the block again, as the occupants silently studied the small white and brick house nestled on the corner lot of this suburban neighborhood. The house was silent, and dark as if everyone inside was asleep, although the men knew for a fact the house had a state of the art alarm system.

 

The car pulled to a halt a few feet from the driveway, and a shadowy figure emerged moonlight glinting off the barrel of the handgun clutched in his fingers. Another figure crossed behind the car walking quickly to stand beside the first. Together both men crept up the driveway and around the house.

 

A keypad was mounted on the wall beside the door the numbers glowed a pale green in the subdued lighting gracing the doorframe. The halogen lamps were muted, subtle so that they would not draw too much attention from the neighbors. The taller of the two figures paused briefly fumbling a slip of paper from his coat pocket before keying in the code that would shut down the security systems, not just the alarms on the door, but the cameras inside the house as well.

 

Once the number had been keyed into the panel the light above the number keys flickered from red to green. Silently the man opened the door quickly slipping inside.

 

There were two bedrooms in the house each one occupied by a police officer and one of the five witnesses in the prostitution trial. It was only a matter of seconds before all four were dead.

 

The blue sparks that erupted from one of the young witnesses were a source of fascination for one of the assassins and he stood watching the mutely twitching body, jerk and twist as the life bled slowly out of it onto the cold, stone tiles. When the floorshow was over he pulled a cell phone from the other pocket of his jacket and punched in a number.

 

A machine answered although there was no message only the dull beep of the machinery picking up the phone, the man uttered a single word; “One.” then hung up. Almost immediately after the phone rang a second time and the voice whispered, “Two.” A few minutes later the third a final call rang into the machine and the line went dead.

 

 

**MacLeod Residence,**

**8:00 a.m.**

Methos rolled over in bed as the telephone rang. Blearily he fumbled across the bedside table before realizing that he was alone. The curtains and window had been opened and the sunlight was streaming through the window. The cheerful sounds of small birds flooded the room, “Shut up,” he hissed at the winged menaces.

 

Grumbling Methos pulled the covers over his head flopping belly down on the soft mattress, a move that proved to be less than wise since he had his usual morning hard-on. “Youch,” he howled although the sound probably didn’t carry into the other room where his erstwhile lover was gabbing on the phone.

 

“Oh Maaac, I need your help with a little something, well a not so little something, come and get it big guy.” Listening for the sound of footsteps from the other room Methos tossed the covers back grasping his cock at the base and waving it in the air like it was stick he was waving for a big, dumb dog to fetch. “Come on, big boy. You know you want it; come and get it.”

 

Snuffling in self pity when that failed to produce his lover the ancient Immortal tossed the bed clothes away and staggered into the living room stopping dead when he was met by the shocked and stunned face of Jerry Halwell and the even more stunned face of the Highlander. Halwell did a slow survey of the _young_ man’s naked and extremely aroused body.

 

Jaw dropping in disbelief MacLeod choked out a final answer to the party on the other end of the phone before dropping it on the table. Halwell still was rooted place in the center of the room and Methos as staggered back as his flesh slumped from shock.

 

“Uh,” he stammered then winced at the stupid sound of it, “I umm, was... I just took a wrong turn on the way to the bathroom.”  Turning Methos fled down the hall and slammed the door to the guest room closed, diving into the bathroom.

 

MacLeod tried for nonchalant as he crept toward the kitchen, and the mug of coffee still steaming on the bar. Carefully he pulled another mug from the tree beside the coffee maker, pouring out a second cup and sliding across to this partner.

Taking the cup Halwell sipped at the liquid then winced, “Mac. Look it’s none of my business but damn it, what the hell are you thinking?”

 

Before the Highlander could even open his mouth the older appearing man raised a hand, “Mac, I’ve known you for fifteen years, and you’ve been more than a friend. Hell, Anne and I think of you as the son we’ve never had, so please hear me out. You’re putting yourself at risk with this kid; he’s a whore for God’s sake.”

 

“Jer, it’s not what you think...”

 

“He came out of your bedroom, Mac, stark naked with a hard-on! How could it possibly not be what I’m thinking? Maybe you’re having a mid-life crisis?”

 

“I am not having a mid-life crisis. I love him.” MacLeod said with a deep sigh. The other man closed his eyes rubbing a hand tiredly over his face before gently continuing.

 

“Mac, Karen and the baby have been dead four years; God knows I was the first one to tell you that you had mourned enough, that you needed to get on with your life, but not like this. Christ, he’s twenty years old, Mac, and that makes you considerably more than forty-nine months older than him. You’ll get sent up for statutory rape. It’ll kill your career, and I didn’t nursemaid you through your internship for that to happen.”

 

Slamming his mug down angrily MacLeod turned on the other man, “Yeah and I’m supposed to be providing protective custody for him. So you can add rape under the cover of authority to the charges, too.”

 

Calming Halwell held up a hand to forestall any other comments from his partner,” Look Mac, nobody’s pressing any charges yet. I’m just trying to get you to see what can happen. How do you know the kid isn’t using you? Once this thing with Minnelli is all taken care of he might just up and disappear.”

 

Sighing MacLeod shrugged, but honestly he couldn’t fight Halwell on that point, he had no illusions about Methos’ penchant to disappear without a trace. “I can only hope that he won’t. I can’t help it, Jer. I’m in love with him. I don’t believe that he’s using me. I think that he loves me too.”

 

The telephone rang again and MacLeod hurried to retrieve it from the table, “MacLeod,” he hissed then turned settling one hip on the edge of the table. “My God, all of them? Yeah, Jerry is here now, I’ll tell him.”

 

Dropping the phone from his numb fingers MacLeod closed his eyes, “The other witnesses are all dead. Every last one of them, last night.”

 

Halwell took a deep breath then pressed the back of his hand to his lips, “How?”

 

“Somebody got into the safe houses. They shot them all, the boys and their guards. Who ever it was had the alarm codes for the security systems too. They got in and out without a peep.”

 

“Whoever they were, they were working for Minnelli. Somebody in the department...” Halwell began. MacLeod shook his head.

 

“Its got to be or the court system. It’s the same as last time. Somebody in the department or the court system is tipping that bastard off. And he’s setting up the hits.”

 

With trembling hands the older man settled on a barstool beside the kitchen island, “That makes your little friend in there solid gold property...Minnelli will do anything to keep him from testifying.”

 

Both men glanced at the hall where Methos suddenly appeared. He was dressed in baggy jeans and a soft stretched out sweater, carefully he finished rubbing a towel over his hair then raked his fingers through the long straight mass. “What’s wrong?” he asked noticing the looks on both men’s faces.

 

MacLeod rose from his perch on the table fumbling in the kitchen then produced a mug of coffee holding it out to the other man. “The other witnesses are all dead.”

 

“All of them?”

 

“Yeah, five witnesses and six cops. Eleven people gone just to save that bastard Minnelli’s head. God, if I could kill him, I would,” MacLeod said angrily.

 

Holding up a hand Halwell tapped him on the chest lightly, “No, Mac. We are going to do this legal, absolutely legal. I want him just as bad as you do. But we’re going to do this the right way. Come one we’ve got to get your friend here down to the station. He’ll have to relocate. The department will move him someplace safe.”

 

Squaring his shoulders the Highlander replied, “They’re not going to move him anywhere without me.”

 

“Mac,” Halwell hissed, “Listen to me, you can’t continue....”

 

Methos stepped forward catching the MacLeod’s arm, “He’s right MacLeod. It’s not safe; I don’t want you to get caught in the middle. I’ll be fine.”

 

“No, Adam. You are not going anywhere without me.”

 

Halwell shot his partner a look then shrugged, “If you want to throw away your career for a whore, there’s nothing I can do about it.”

 

He stormed out of the room leaving Methos and MacLeod standing together, “Don’t do this for me, Mac. He’s right I’m not worth losing your whole life over.”

 

“You are my whole life, that’s what hurt me the most, Methos...Not Tessa, not Darius not any other Immortal friend or lover, hell, not even Amada. Thinking that I’d lost you almost killed me. It made me give up my Immortality. I won’t lose you a second time. Whatever happens we’ll face it together. Go pack up your stuff, anything you want out of the house. I’m going to get my things together and we’ll go to the department.”

 

MacLeod watched Methos disappear into the guestroom, and then moved into his bedroom leaving the door open so that he could see if the other man left. Quickly he pulled a duffle bag out of the closet and began loading it down. When he was sure that Methos was occupied he picked up his cell phone. Punching a number in quickly MacLeod waited until the voice on the other end stopped speaking, “Ned...yeah, it’s Duncan MacLeod. I know that you’re not in the business anymore but I need some work done. I thought maybe you knew somebody. Got a pen, this is what I need.”

 

 

**NYPD 21 st Precinct,**

**Barton Street**

 

Methos sat in a chair staring at Jerry Halwell who sat in a chair staring back at him. They hadn’t spoken to each other since MacLeod had left them in his office almost thirty minutes ago. Finally the silence began to really annoy him. Heaving a sigh Methos swung around in the chair and said, “You might as well get it over.”

 

Halwell glanced up frowning, “What?”

 

“Get it over, the lecture, the one where you tell me that I’m not good enough for Mac. That I’m hurting him, if I truly cared about him I’d leave.”

 

“Sorry to disappoint you kid, but Mac is a grown man. He’s free to make his own choices. Look even an old straight guy like me, who’s never played the other side of the field, can see your not inconsiderable charms. Hell, I think you’re probably a good kid. I know you’re not working for Minnelli because you want to. But this is going to cost him, maybe his career. How do you think he’ll feel about you then? Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

 

Methos uttered a brittle laugh, “I already have. I have regret upon regret, doubled over.”

 

“How can you?”

 

“Oh, Mr. Halwell, if you only knew.”

 

MacLeod felt uneasy about leaving his partner and Methos together. Hoping that warfare wouldn’t erupt between the two he had closed his office door after picking up the messages waiting for him on his desk.

 

John Roberts in the Records Department had come through yet again. The guy was a genius at deciphering government bullshit, and cutting red tape. Yesterday he had found the last part of the puzzle that had been troubling the Highlander since Methos had first reappeared in his life. The body of the executed criminal in the AI case had never been released for burial. It was still in the deep freeze in the county morgue of this very precinct.

 

Carefully MacLeod trudged down the steep winding staircase to the bottom floor of the ancient building. The air was cold in the basement, and MacLeod wondered if it was cold because they had built the morgue down here or had they built the morgue down here because it was cold.

 

Rounding the corner he paused, there was a faint scent of mildew or mold in the air overlaying an even fainter but no less troubling scent that couldn’t be disguised as anything but what it was. The scent of decay, of human flesh lying too long in warm air.

 

Taking a deep breath MacLeod pushed open the morgue doors. It was empty in the cavernous room, his footsteps echoed on the cement block walls, booming hollowly.

The metal tables were empty though and he sighed in relief, not that he hadn’t seen far too many human bodies in the course of his long life, had been responsible for far too many of them.

 

Quickly MacLeod fumbled a slip of paper from his trouser pocket, glancing at the white typed cards on the front of each door he moved down the line of metal cold storage units.

 

Finally he found the number that corresponded to the note in his hand. Closing his eyes for a minute he opened the door and pulled out the sliding table.

 

The figure on the table was rigid in a way only a dead human body could be. A white sheet was draped neatly over the figure covering it from head to toe, although MacLeod could see a few wisps of dark brown hair sticking out.

 

The head was at an awkward angle and he had seen far too many decapitated bodies not to understand that it was no longer attached to the shoulders. With a trembling hand MacLeod reached for the sheet ready to unwind it and expose the dead face. He paused.

 

What was he doing here? If it was Methos’ body under this sheet what was the man he had left sitting, staring daggers at his partner? All MacLeod could remember was the warm feeling that had spread from his gut throughout his entire body the first day he had walked with Methos to the pizza parlor for lunch. The man who had sat in that chair making snide remarks about everything had been Methos, just as much as the image firmly implanted in his brain.

 

And what about the man who lay beside him at night, the long warm limbs wrapped snugly around his body as if Methos was trying to insinuate himself into the center of MacLeod’s being? Was he not real? Even now MacLeod’s body was tingling warmly from just the memories.

 

MacLeod sighed, Methos was more than just the sum of his individual parts, but was he more than a whole human body? If he had been mortal, like Tessa, would MacLeod have loved him any less just because he had grown older. He didn’t think so; he hadn’t loved Methos any less when he had thought the man dead. Jerry Halwell’s voice echoed in his mind, “ _A difference that makes no difference is no difference.”_

 

Yet all MacLeod had to do was pull away the sheet and all his doubts could be settled. All he had to do was pull away the sheet and reveal the face beneath it.

 

All he had to do was pull away the sheet.

 

Quickly he pushed the table inside, and closed the door. His hands shaking he crumpled the paper into a tight wad, tossing it into the garbage can beside one of the metal exam tables as he hurried out of the room.

 

Halfway up the stairs MacLeod’s legs were trembling so hard he collapsed onto the cold stone.  He half sprawled on the step panting as if he had run fifteen miles. Weakly he pulled himself upright, pressing his head against the clammy stone wall. He inhaled the scent of the place again, the dark moldy and mildew smell underlain with the sickly sweet scent of human decay, and his stomach rebelled. He retched violently just managing to force the coffee to stay inside. He rose on shaky legs and hauled himself up the rest of the stairs leaning heavily on the railing.

 

At the top of the stairs he pushed the door to the hallway open, drawing in a deep breath. His stomach had settled enough that he pulled his cell phone from the pocket of his jacket dialing the number of Department Six of the Superior court. The clerk answered and he said, “MaryAnn, this is Detective MacLeod is Judge Hamilton in? No, what about Judge Donner? Great let me speak to him.”

 

The judge’s rich, slightly accented voice came on, “Mac, I heard. It’s terrible. I need to see you immediately so we can figure out how to proceed now that the witnesses against Minnelli are all dead.”

 

MacLeod sighed then lowered his voice, looking around to see if anyone was close enough to hear him, “They’re all not dead I was providing custody for one of them at my house. Adam Dawson is still alive.”

 

“What?” he gasped and he could tell by the shocked tone of Donner’s voice he hadn’t’ been informed of Carroll Hamilton’s order releasing Methos to his custody. “Thank God that he wasn’t, we still have a chance then. I need to see you, Mr. Dawson and Jerry Halwell immediately.”

 

“Sure, I’ll round the others up, and we’ll come right over.”

 

By the time that MacLeod reached his office he was feeling much better. Closing the door behind him he glanced at the two men sitting on the opposite sides of his desk, taking in the harried worn and creased visage of his mortal partner, and the equally harried yet youthful face of the man he loved.

 

Methos glared at the Highlander then half rose from his seat until the other man waved him back. Halwell turned also noting MacLeod’s pale face, “Mac, are you okay?”

 

“Yeah, I guess this thing really threw me. I called Department Six, and Judge Donner wants us to come over now.”

 

The lunchtime traffic was not too heavy and the Bronco pulled into the parking lot for the superior court just half an hour later. The court was busy and they had to wait in line at the metal detectors. Once they were at the front of the line MacLeod and Halwell identified themselves as police offices then handed their guns and badges to the security guards who deposited them in a locked metal cabinet to be returned later.

 

MacLeod frowned as his gun disappeared into the box, but he accepted the receipt that the guard gave him. Glancing around he put his hand against the small of Methos’ back propelling him forward through the machine. Finally, Halwell brought up the rear.

 

“I hate being unarmed, if Minnelli’s men counted the witnesses they’re going to know that one is still alive, and if they’ve got an accomplice in the court system you’re not safe here.”

 

Methos merely shrugged, “Come on Mac, bathroom.”

 

The two detectives followed the other man to the men’s room on the first floor. Methos huddled in the stall but didn’t close the door. Turning he tugged his tee-shirt out of his jeans then removed a black leather sheath from his waist. Carefully wrapping the straps around the knife sheath he handed it to MacLeod.

 

The Highlander glanced down at the weapon in his hands, pulling it free from the scabbard.  Ten inches of high-density serrated plastic with a hard, plastic handle fell into his palm. The knife was razor sharp and just as deadly, and completely invisible to any metal detector.

 

“Adam,” MacLeod hissed, “this thing is illegal as hell, and given the circumstances completely unnecessary.”

 

“Old habits die hard, Mac.”

 

Quickly MacLeod lifted the hem of his polo shirt and strapped the sheath on, pulling it around so that the knife lay in the curve of his spine.

 

Frank Donner was the Judge presiding in Department Six on alternate days, Carroll Hamilton’s friend and colleague. MacLeod was a bit concerned that he hadn’t been informed that Methos was staying at MacLeod’s but he remembered that Hamilton had been in a hurry as well, so likely she just forgot.

 

The Judge waved them into his chambers, closing the door leading into the courtroom. Settling behind the desk he frowned at MacLeod. Donner was a big man, physically imposing on his own without the added authority of the black robes he wore. Taking a deep breath he said, “I don’t know why I wasn’t informed about Mr. Dawson being located in your home, but I hope that you have a damn good reason.”

 

MacLeod bristled, “I had a very good reason, Your Honor.”

 

Glancing shrewdly at Methos the judge sneered, “Oh yes, I think that I can see it. Look MacLeod we haven’t ever gotten along so I’ll try to keep this professional. I don’t really care why you decided to keep the boy in your home. But the truth is he wouldn’t be alive right now, so I’ll let it slide. I know that you and Carroll Hamilton play fast and lose with the rules when it suits you; for the most part we end up with good results. But right now this young man is the most important person I know. The only person who can testify against Anthony Minnelli.”

 

“I am aware of that, your honor. Believe me I have my own reasons for wanting to keep Adam alive. As near as I can figure there is a leak somewhere in the department or here in the court house.”

 

“I am inclined to agree with you on that point. So from now on I want Mr. Dawson in a safe house...”

 

“Oh yeah, that really worked so well last time,” Methos snorted. Both the judge and MacLeod shot him a look, and he subsided back in his chair grumbling under his breath. Leaning the chair back he crossed both arms over his chest, and glared back.

 

“I’m going to put Mr. Dawson under twenty-four hour high security to be provided by the court deputies.”

 

“No,” MacLeod said, “I started this and I’m finishing it. I won’t allow Adam to be placed with any security that I’m not directly involved in.”

 

<P>“You are not in a position to allow or disallow anything, MacLeod.” Donner snarled. “When this thing is all over I don’t care if you fuck the boy seven ways to Sunday, but right now this is my courtroom.”

 

“Your honor, if you weren’t wearing that robe I’d take you back behind the courthouse and teach you some manners...” MacLeod snapped.

 

“Detective, I can always take this robe off.”

 

“Well if all the macho posturing is over for the moment let me just say that I don’t have to accept any protective custody, at all. Sit down, Mac.” Methos interjected, “I will not go anywhere with anyone unless it’s Detectives MacLeod and Halwell, your honor.”

 

The judge gave him a hard look then nodded, “That’s true Mr. Dawson, but you don’t stand a chance on the streets. I’m sure that Minnelli will have someone tailing you so as soon as you leave they’ll kill you. However, I think that I can accommodate you on your request for security. Also it is not unknown for witnesses who are at risk to provide their testimony via satellite feed into the courtroom. As in all criminal trials, Minnelli’s trial is on the Fast Track system, so the trial is scheduled for three weeks from today. I’m going to recommend that the three of you be driven to a secured location not far from here. Detective MacLeod your vehicle will be secured here in the impound lot so that you can’t be identified and followed.”

 

MacLeod nodded understanding that anyone following Methos would probably have already identified his Bronco by the license plates. “Actually I intended on moving Adam as soon as I heard that the other witnesses had been killed, we have our things in my car.”

 

“Give me the keys,” Donner said, quickly he summoned the bailiff instructing her to retrieve Methos’ and MacLeod’s luggage from his car and bring it to the courtroom. Halwell was on the telephone to his wife and she was sending some of his belongings over as well.

 

While they were waiting for an unmarked police car from the precinct the Judge continued, “I will get the orders entered into the record that will allow Adam to testify via satellite and once the trial is over he’ll have to be relocated. I’m sure that the Minnelli family will not take it well if Anthony is convicted. You are going to be sent to a public location, a rather large and well-populated hotel not far from here. I can have all the satellite equipment with a two way feed set up in a conference room there.  All we can try and do is keep two steps ahead of them.”

 

 

**Green House Hotel,**

**12 th Street**

Methos lay stretched out across one of the two king-sized beds in the suite reserved by the court. Sighing he picked up the remote control for the television clicking through the channels. The television blared, and MacLeod rose turning the volume down glaring at the other man. Jerry Halwell was camped out in the living room of the suite, still industriously applying himself to the meal that room service had delivered earlier.

 

“I could think of worse ways to spend the next three weeks, MacLeod,” Methos said smiling as he flicked the remote yet again, “Hey look, they’re having an all night slash and hack film festival. Ooooh, Halloween 18: the Grandson of Michael Myers,” Grinning he clicked on the info button, “lends a new meaning to ‘Keeping it All in the Family.’”

 

MacLeod settled on the other bed, pulling the pillows over his face. He mumbled into the soft, cotton case as Methos turned the volume all the way up. The agonized shrieks of the first victims of the masked killer caused Halwell to barge into the room, gun drawn. “Come on kid, turn it down. You almost scared the hell out of me. I thought that Minnelli’s men had gotten in here.”

 

“Only one door,” Methos said flicking a hand at the door through which Halwell had entered the room, “The main door to the suite is on your side. They’d have to get past you first.”

 

Rolling across the bed MacLeod snatched the remote turning the volume down, “Still it’s better to not piss off the other guests. Besides I think it’s time to get some sleep, Jerry you want to sleep first and I’ll take the second watch?”

 

“No need, there’re several undercover guys scattered through the hotel, and I think one of the cleaning staff is also an undercover cop. Besides the hotel has better security than we did. I’ll pull the bed out in the sofa here. Just to keep an ear on the door.” Halwell smiled, closing the door behind him.

 

Methos stripped to his boxers, pulling the blankets down before slipping under the covers. MacLeod also stripped to his underwear crawling into the bed beside the other man. Gently he lifted Methos’ head settling him comfortably against his shoulder. Methos raked his fingers through the curls lying on MacLoed’s neck, and said softly, “I didn’t realize how much gray is in your hair.”

 

“I usually keep it touched up a little. To cover it up so I don’t quite look my age.”

 

“You color your hair?” Methos snickered, then fingered the curl again sighing, “Actually it’s not as much as a guy your age would have. I was just used to seeing you without any at all.”

 

“I know.” The Highlander said caressing the other man’s cheek, but Methos stiffened in his arms then hung his head. “What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing, it’s silly. I just realized that ...You’re going to die, aren’t you?”

 

“Yeah, I am.” MacLeod said placing his fingertips under Methos’ chin, turning his face up so that they could see each other eye to eye. He was shocked to see a thin lace of moisture in the long, lush eyelashes. “Hey, don’t do that.”

 

“All those years ago, when we were both Immortal, when we could have been together I was afraid.  Afraid of getting too close to another Immortal, afraid of being used as a hostage against you, afraid of the Game so I ran away or, worse, I let you walk away. I never even tried to find you after O’Rourke.”

 

“I know, I wasn’t ready anyway. After everything that had happened I was a danger to you, to everybody, but now the Gathering is over. We have time, not the same as we might have had when we were both Immortal, but whatever time I have left I want to be with you, Methos.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“That’s all, just okay?  Wow, this past couple of months I’ve been beating myself up thinking how to ask you to be with me, and all I had to do was let the color grow out of my hair so you could se how old I was getting?” MacLeod smiled nuzzling the smooth curve of Methos’ neck.

 

“I guess seeing that you were older, the visible sighs of you aging just hit me. It scares me, Mac. What am I going to do when you’re gone?”

 

“Well, the average life span is 120 years so I’m not going to die for a long time, Methos.

And I intend to be one of those randy old guys still chasing all the pretty young things around.”

 

“I better be the only pretty, really old thing you chase around,” Methos snorted.

 

MacLeod rolled over gently pressing Methos to the bed, when the other man would have thrown him off he settled down, using his greater weight to hold the squirming body still.

 

Methos wedged a leg between MacLeod’s thighs rubbing against his balls, stroking lightly but every now and again adding more pressure as a minuscule threat. MacLeod chuckled, and Methos flushed crimson, sighing he stretched his neck upwards capturing MacLeod’s mouth in a kiss. MacLeod leaned down deepening the kiss, tongue delving into the other man’s mouth. Methos sucked on the invading tongue, feeling the other man shivering above him.

 

Methos uttered a brief exclamation of discontent when the Highlander pulled away, but smiled when he returned with a tube of lubricant in his hand. Squeezing dollop of the silky gel out into his hand MacLeod blew on it to warm it then slowly began stroking the gel over Methos’ entrance.

 

Methos lay back spreading his legs wider so that MacLeod could have better access, groaning as the blunt fingers dipped inside too briefly then retreated, before pushing in again.  Finally, MacLeod rubbed his still slippery hand over his aching cock, and pressed inside his lover’s body.

 

Methos raised his legs, wrapping his calves around the other man’s back, using his heels to pull MacLeod forward even more. MacLeod pressed his possession as far as he could, and uttered a deep moan when his balls slapped against Methos ass. Methos bucked his hips up urging Macleod to move.

 

Grinning MacLeod thrust gently barely moving his hips, and Methos growled at him, “MacLeod, fuck me all ready.”

 

“I am fucking you, feel that?” he snickered then thrust again slowly, minutely. Methos rolled his eyes.

 

“I get more action than that from the shower head attachment.”

 

“Ooooh, so that’s why you take forty-five minute baths,” MacLeod said pulling out and angling his thrust upwards slightly before slamming in flattening Methos against the bed.

 

Methos howled clenching the sheets in his fists, head thrown back against the pillow. MacLeod thrust again more vigorously and Methos grinned up at him, taking a deep breath he moaned, loudly, then almost shouted, “Ah yes! Give it to me, daddy. Just like that...”

 

With a wild look at the door to the other room MacLeod leaned down clamping his lips firmly over Methos’ wicked mouth. He set a deep, regular rhythm that had both of them panting with need, then Methos reached between the two of them grasping his slick erection, stroking quickly and firmly until he jerked his mouth away from MacLeod and groaned deeply, coming in hard spurts over his belly and chest. The clenching of Methos’ muscled wrung a hard climax out of Macleod and he grunted dropping like a rock onto the heaving chest below him.

 

Finally, he rolled away separating them gently then pulled Methos into his arms to sleep. Methos lay with his head against MacLeod’s shoulder listening to the regular rhythm of the other man’s breathing, before grasping his lover tightly. MacLeod wiggled in his sleep objecting to the vise like grip but Methos couldn’t let go. Just the thought that someday he would lose this man hurt like all the other losses of his exceedingly long life never had, yet he would not trade these few precious years to come for anything. Sighing Methos closed his eyes, if only he had been The One truly, he knew what he would ask for as his Prize, the man laying next him, drooling on the pillow. With a grimace Methos shoved MacLeod away, grumbling the Highlander rolled over and Methos spooned up behind him grasping MacLeod’s waist, yes this was what he would have asked for, immortality with this man, for this man, so that Methos could correct a mistake he once made, erase that thousand and first regret.

 

**December 12, 2185**

**Brahman, Greir and Hass**

**Attorneys at Law**

 

Anthony Minnelli settled on the leather sofa in his lawyer’s office glaring at the tall, balding man. With a grimace the attorney motioned to the manila folder sitting opened on the broad expanse of his desk, as Minnelli said, “I don’t understand how they can still be bringing this case to trial without any witnesses.”

 

Jack Hass tapped his blunt fingered hand on the highly polished wood; “Apparently there is still one witness alive.”

 

“I don’t get it how could that have happened? It was on all the news programs--five witnesses and six cops, all dead in the safe houses in New York. I heard the reports a dozen times at least.”

 

“Yes, and that’s the problem, there were seven employees of the import firm that were being kept at the warehouse downtown; one of them died of some kind of seizure. That was noted in the police reports. But that left six witnesses, only five are dead. Somewhere there is one more witness, and one who has personal knowledge of everything that went on in the import firm recreation clubhouse. That means not only the paid escorts, but the illicit substance use and the video and wiretapping in the personal areas of the house.”

 

Minnelli ground out, “Hell, all of the boys were well trained; they knew exactly what was expected from them.”

 

“Yeah I’m sure they were, and if that kid rats you out, you’re gone not only for prostitution, but illegal wiretapping, and extortion and drugs. That’s one hell of a long rap.”

 

“Carroll Hamilton screwed up. I don’t know why, she’s always been reliable in the past.

But somehow she screwed this up. Why don’t you give her a call?”

 

After Minnelli had left the office Hass flipped though his Rolodex pulling up the number for Carroll Hamilton’s townhouse. He picked up the phone dialing the number himself instead of calling the switchboard. The phone rang five times and just as he was going to hang up, a voice answered. He asked to speak to Judge Hamilton, identifying himself as Jack Hass.

 

Judge Hamilton came on the line sounding miffed and breathless, “You’re not supposed to contact me at home.”

 

“I’m one of the attorneys in a case over which you are presiding. I am allowed to talk to you.”

 

“Yes, but only professionally. If it gets out that you called the DA will ask that I exclude myself, and you’ll end up with Frank Donner full time instead just while I’m on sick leave.”

 

“Well, Your Honor, my client asked that I give you a call, It seems that you were remiss is delivering those documents we requested.  It appears that only five actually can be confirmed, there appears to be one missing.”

 

Her voice caught nervously, “Oh my God, the Dawson boy. I forgot about him. He’s, or rather his file is at MacLeod’s house.”

 

“Ah, well, that mitigates this oversight. I’m sure that Detective MacLeod is all for sharing evidence. I’ll have someone take care of it today.”

 

 

**Greene House Hotel,**

**December 15th,**

 

 

The three of them had been in the suite for three weeks and MacLeod was sure that he was going to have to kill either Methos or Jerry Halwell. Methos spent every available moment he could tormenting the older looking man. And Halwell had threatened to spank Methos on several occasions. If it wasn’t forty-five minute baths or blaring rock music Methos seemed to glorify in finding anything and everything that annoyed MacLeod’s friend.

 

The two Detectives had been taking turns going down to the lobby everyday, using the business conference room to Fax documents to the court or the department or district attorney’s office.

 

Leaning back in the high backed chair at the end of the conference table Jerry Halwell sighed, “Yes, Judge Donner. I understand. No, the tech people are going to wire this conference room here at the hotel so that Adam can give his testimony via satellite.”

 

Donner’s voice carried over the line; “I’ll be turning the trial back over to Carroll tomorrow. She’s scheduled to come back on duty. Everything looks good from this end.”

 

“Fine your honor, we’ll have Adam ready.”

 

**Department Six,**

**New York Superior Court**

**5:00 p.m.**

 

Carroll Hamilton walked into the courtroom noting with satisfaction that all the preliminary work was completed. She also noted that Frank Donner had ordered that Adam Dawson be allowed to testify via satellite. That could be a problem he could be anywhere, perhaps no longer even in New York, although she felt certain that he hadn’t been allowed to leave the state. He was still under the protection of two NYPD detectives, and the department was not particularly open to having their best detectives haring off to parts unknown.

 

With a frown Hamilton settled into her desk, flipping through the jury selection documents, noting that the panel was well selected, and secured. Bribing the jury would not be an option here. Minnelli had been very vocal about her little oversight, and she was not at all anxious to test his patience. Donner probably knew where the witness was, in fact he was probably the only person who knew, but if she just happened to ask him and the boy turned up dead the next day that wouldn’t do her any good. This situation needed to be handled very carefully.

 

Quickly she began searching the desk, looking for any document or message that might lead her to where the witness was being kept. Hamilton had almost given up when she spied a manila folder of neatly organized FAXes on the sidebar beside the machine.

There on the return line, the fax number and the name of the location from which the fax had been sent. Smiling she quickly pulled out her cell phone.

 

 

**Greene House Hotel,**

**11:00 p.m.**

 

A black sedan pulled smoothly up to the curb across the street from the hotel. The car’s lone occupant sat huddled over the steering wheel, cupping his hands around a cigarette.

 

Carl Kingston sighed hating the dry, bland taste of the artificial tobacco, no tar and no nicotine, but no flavor either.

 

Coughing a bit, he put the window down and tossed the butt out into the street. The faint red ember glowed briefly before it self extinguished. Shaking his head, Carl hitched another sigh thinking of the good old days when a cigarette could at least cripple you if not down right kill you. These damned things couldn’t even start a raging forest fire.

 

Picking up the small leather bag on the seat he exited the car, looking carefully both ways before crossing the street. Slinging the bag over his shoulder he walked through the door under the metal detector and into the brightly lit lobby.

 

The Green House was nothing if not elegant. One of the oldest buildings to survive the convergence with a warm, old world wood and metal lobby, and a huge stone fireplace, that burned actual wood, or would have if the clean air laws didn’t forbid open flames.

 

He paused glancing around discretely, and immediately identified two undercover police officers sitting at the bar to the far end of the room. Quickly Carl walked purposefully to the registration desk smiling at the clerk. He gave her the name he had registered under and collected his key. The room was on the third floor close to the elevator and he had had to do some fast-talking to get it.

 

Once he had reached the room he opened the door, putting his bag down on the bed and turned on the television. Carl wasn’t too big on TV. But most people who had been traveling usually tuned in, if only catch the local weather.

 

Stripping off his overcoat he fished through the bag for a small locked box, and carried it over to the table.  Inside the box were the disassembled pieces of his handgun, made of high-density plastics and the pulse chamber. It took only a few minutes for Carl’s nimble fingers to reassemble to gun, which he tucked into his trouser pocket before shutting off the TV and going out the door.

 

Quickly he walked down the hall and took the elevator back to the lobby where he went to the bar across from the business center. The fax that Judge Hamilton had sent him a copy of had a number that he had traced to the second conference room of the business center. Carl was certain that if he sat there long enough one of the two detectives, either MacLeod or Halwell would show up. The trial began tomorrow; there were probably quite a few things they had to do to get the room ready for the boy to testify.

 

He smiled as if right on cue Jerry Halwell popped out of the elevator and walked into the conference room, closing the door behind him. Carl was on his third beer when the old man finally came out again frowning at the sheet of paper in his hands.

 

Carl waited until he was half way across the room before he flipped a credit chip onto the table to cover his bill, and then rose silently following.  Pausing just long enough for the elevator doors to close he walked to the second elevator which was on the top floor and pushed the door button. All the time he stood patiently waiting for the elevator Carl kept watch on the green numbers flashing above the other car.

 

There were only four floors to the hotel, and the upper level was split into four large suites with bedrooms and living areas for more long-term guests. Carl was willing to bet that was where the witness was being housed. But he waited watching as the elevator never slowed once until it reached the fourth floor.

 

Glancing down at the fax folded in his hand, Carl smiled. The telephone number of the suite was hand printed on the fax, but not the suite number itself. He’d have to find out which suite they were in. He stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for the fourth floor.

 

Three of the four rooms had laundry bags hanging on the doors and Carl went to the first door, the bag held a woman’s suit and a child’s clothing. He carefully placed the clothes in the bag and moved on. Similarly the second bag held lacy black under garments, and Carl decided that unless the boy was playing dress up again this was the wrong room, the third bag was filled with clothing for at least three people, a black Henley and jeans, gray suit trousers and white cotton dress shirt with a large pasta sauce stain on it, and linen slacks and an ivory cotton sweater.

 

Smiling Carl pulled out his cell phone punching in the number for the suite. He could hear the phone ringing inside, and positioned himself just to the side of the door. The phone clicked on and a voice answered, “MacLeod.”

 

“Detective MacLeod this is the front desk we have another fax for you in the business center, shall I send it up?” he said blandly.

 

“No, I’ll be right down.”

 

The red light on the keypad for the alarm system flashed green, and the door opened. Carl took a step forward and jammed the gun into MacLeod’ side pushing him back inside the room.

 

Halwell jumped to his feet but MacLeod motioned for him to step aside, and Carl could see the boy sitting at the table, a half eaten plate of food in front of him. He also half rose from his chair, but stopped moving as the gun settled firmly against MacLeod’s neck.  “Sorry kid, I got nothing against you. This is just business.”

 

Methos raised his hands, “Let them go. I’ll come with you.”

 

“Can’t kid, I really wish I could but they already saw me.” Carl raised the gun, and MacLeod burst into action. He jammed his elbow into the other man’s ribs, and Carl hissed in pain. The first shot rang wild, and Halwell dived for his partner and the hit man. Carl managed to snap off another shot. Jerry Halwell staggered from the impact hitting Methos squarely in the chest and they both collapsed in an untidy heap on the floor behind the table.

 

Methos struggled to roll the heavier man off him, wincing at the thick viscous fluid oozing over his arms and chest. The amount of blood alone, if not the gaping hole in his chest told Methos that the detective was dead. Quickly he shoved Halwell away staggering to his feet, as another gun shot sounded. Carl and MacLeod parted both with stunned looks on their faces and Methos leapt forward, “Mac?”

 

Raising a bloody hand to the other man’s face MacLeod smiled gently, “Run, Methos. Get out now.”

 

“No, oh God, Mac. No!”  Methos sobbed as Macleod collapsed forward hand pressed to the gunshot wound in his chest. “No, you’re not supposed to die, not now.”

 

The gun clicked again, and Methos stood whirling around as his hand dropped to his waist. Carl raised the gun a final time, but before he could fire he staggered back, ten inches of serrated knife blade buried to the hilt in his chest.

 

Stalking forward the twenty-year-old boy transformed into an ancient and deadly creature. Carl gasped, eyes wide in fear, “Who the hell are you?”

 

“Somebody you really shouldn’t have pissed off. Who told you we were here? It wasn’t Judge Donner. I am willing to lay money on that. We’ve been here for three weeks and nothing. How did you find us?” Stooping Methos slowly pulled the knife out of the chest wound, the gaping hole sucked at the blade making it more difficult that it should have been. Not that Methos cared, the blade probably hurt like hell if the writhing body beneath him was any indication. He smiled, “Now I’m sure that probably hurt, didn’t it? Well, it’s going to hurt a lot more going back in, and in the end you’ll still tell me exactly what I want.”

 

Leaning down he smiled, and Carl winced more from that cold, lifeless expression than the knife wound, “I’m only going to ask once more. Who told you we were here?”

 

“Okay, Carroll Hamilton. Kid you’re crazy. So now you can just leave me alone.”

 

Pulling the knife blade out of the other man’s body Methos shook his head, “I don’t recall ever saying that I’d let you go if you told me what I wanted.”

 

The edge of the blade flash under Carl’s chin, and a gush of warm wet fluid splattered Methos fingers. He wiped them slowly on the dead man’s shirtfront. He staggered back to MacLeod’s body settling on the floor. “Oh God, Mac. Please I don’t want to live without you. I can’t even find an Immortal to take my head. Don’t leave me here alone again. I can’t bear it.”

 

Suddenly a deep vibrating buzz rattled Methos’ entire body setting his teeth on edge. He flinched jerking his head up toward the door. He hadn’t felt that sensation in a long time.

 

A groan issued from the man on the floor, and Methos jumped back eyes wide, as MacLeod sat up. “Ah! God in Heaven, Methos. I’ve got one hell of a headache. I can feel it rattling my brains.”

 

“Not a headache, Mac. It’s me.” Methos smiled throwing himself into the other man’s arms. “It’s me, it my buzz.”

 

“Your buzz, you mean your Immortal buzz? I can feel you!”

 

“Well, I am sitting in your lap.” Methos said snidely.

 

“No you dim wit, your Immortal buzz I can feel it. So that means I’m Immortal again?”

 

MacLeod gasped, “I’m Immortal again.”

 

“My Prize,” Methos stuttered grinning, as MacLeod shot him a look, “I was the last one standing, and I got my Prize. Game over.”

 

**New York Superior Court,**

**8:00 a.m.**

 

Judge Hamilton banged her gavel on the bench yet again. It was the third that she had had to bring the court to order, “I will not tolerate disorder in this courtroom, ladies and gentlemen. If I have to I will clear this courtroom.” She turned to Lynn Wagstaff of the prosecutor’s office, “Ms. Wagstaff, if you cannot produce your witness I will have no choice but to dismiss this case.”

 

“I am sorry, Your Honor, but they are running a little late,” she stuttered. Suddenly the courtroom door flew open as MacLeod strode inside, followed by several uniform deputies and Methos dressed in a blue suit and cotton sweater.  Lynn Wagstaff smiled, “My first witness is here, Your Honor. I call Adam Dawson to the stand.”

 

Judge Hamilton gaped then glanced not at the defendant’s table but the row of expensively dressed men and women behind the defendant and his attorney. Jack Hass

turned to Anthony Minnelli pressing his hand against the man’s chest keeping him in his chair.

 

Suddenly Captain Tom Harris of the major crimes division stepped forward, speaking to the prosecutor, she turned to the bench.  “Actually the People request a side bar with Your Honor,” she moved forward along with MacLeod and the Captain. Jack Hass also took his place at the bench.

 

MacLeod glanced up at the judge, “Carroll, Minnelli’s hit man talked, you need to excuse your self and go with the Captain. Try to preserve your dignity.”

 

Hass turned, “If the judge is going to be removed then I have to request a continuance. My client cannot go to trial with an unprepared judge on the bench.”

 

Lynn Wagstaff shook her head, “Judge Donner is here and available. In fact he did all the pre-trial phase so he is very well familiar with the case. It will not damage your client in any way to go forward with this trial.”

 

**Three Weeks Later…**

 

Judge Donner accepted the note from the Jury foreman and read the verdict. Anthony Minnelli was guilty on all counts.  Lynn Wagstaff shook hands with the detectives and witness for the state. As they stood beside the table watching the crowd file out of the room, she said quietly, “I’m sorry that this had to disrupt your life, Adam. I know it’s going to be hard adjusting to a new life, but it’s for the best. While Minnelli himself is out of the picture his family is not and you won’t safe here anymore. I understand that you’re leaving the force as well Detective MacLeod.”

 

“Yeah, I am. In fact I’m driving Adam to the airport today.”

 

Methos half turned, and then smiled at the woman again. He followed MacLeod to the Bronco.  “I didn’t realize that I was going anywhere by air.”

 

“It’s hard to get to the Mars colony otherwise,” MacLeod said smiling and handing him a ticket. Methos glanced at the white plastic strip in his hand.

 

“Mars Colony? Mac, I can’t go to Mars. They only accept people with necessary skills. I don’t have any skills that qualify, not yet. If I can finish my Tech Degree then maybe.”

 

“Well, they need experienced law enforcement personnel. Especially since the terra formers and the water pipeline construction crew began having little disagreements with the ice miners at the polar caps. And you can finish your degree on-line. The college you were attending has a program. In fact your tuition is all paid up.”

 

“Only one problem I’m not a qualified law enforcement officer.”

 

“I know,” MacLeod, said enjoying being one up on the Old Man. Methos shot him a look, and then accepted the packet that the other man shoved into his hands, “You’ll need these too.”

 

An id card, bankcard and passport dropped into his lap as Methos shook open the envelope. He picked up the ID card “Adam Pierson-MacLeod. What the hell?”

 

“Oh, I forgot to mention that the spouses of qualified personnel also get to go.” Macleod said not looking at the other man. Methos cast a sideways glance at him. Shifting through the documents with trembling hands he finally sighed.

 

“Mac, I don’t know what to say. But I’m not sure...”

 

“There’s no more Game Methos, even if more Immortals are born here on Earth we’ll be gone. No one will ever have to tell them about the Game or the Gathering. Please I have a second chance to be Immortal, to love you forever. Don’t deny me.”

 

“Have I ever? I’ll try MacLeod...Duncan.” Methos whispered quietly, and the smile on MacLeod’s face made it all worthwhile. Quickly Macleod scrabbled something out of his pocket.

 

“Give me your hand,” he said tapping Methos’ elbow and Methos raised his left hand. Taking a deep breath MacLeod slid the gold ring on his finger. And that was when Methos noticed that MacLeod was already wearing his ring. Methos tangled his fingers with the other man’s leaning forward to claim a quick kiss.

 

“Whether thou goest, so shall I go.”

 

 

 

The End


End file.
